


Mania

by Emmitha



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Character studies, F/M, Klaus has some issues yall, Luther/Allison one sided, M/M, No one copes well, Nothing in here is healthy, PTSD, Referenced Drug Use, as per usual, like at all, like very referenced, marked major character death cause Ben dies, too tired to be allowed to tag but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmitha/pseuds/Emmitha
Summary: A series of character studies on the Hargreeves siblings based on the Fall Out Boy album. Everyone has at least one chapter, a few of them have two or three. Lots of angst.





	1. Young & Menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five.

_ “We’ve gone way too fast for way too long, _

_ And we were never supposed to make it half this far.” _

 

There are days, weeks, even, where he isn’t certain the Umbrella Academy ever really existed. Times when he’s not sure if his father, his siblings, everyone aren’t just elaborate creations of his mind intended to provide him some sort of meager comfort, a sense of purpose. Pogo especially makes it hard to remember they were all real.

It’s for that reason that he takes Vanya’s book with him everywhere. After Dolores, the book is the only thing that keeps him going, that reminds him he has a family to save, not to mention a world. Well, most of a family. 

(The chapter on Ben had almost broken him in a way he’d never thought possible. He cared for his family, he knew that deep down; saving them had been his driving purpose for years now. But the pain that hit him every time he remembered Ben’s death served as a  _ gut-wrenching _ reminder that he also loved them and he couldn’t fail them. Not again.)

He traverses the wasteland of the apocalypse with Dolores, Vanya’s book, and his own shrieking, raging thoughts for decades longer than he ever really though he’d last until one day, he’s not alone.

Hearing a voice that isn’t Dolores’ or his own is...almost painful, really. The handler speaks with a smug voice that matches her expression, an expression that Vanya had said Five himself usually tended to wear. An expression that says “I know something you don’t, and your sad little brain would burst if I ever told you.”

(If nothing else, Vanya had certainly had a way with words.)

Five didn’t like it. He understood now why that expression made it to Vanya’s list of things she hadn’t always loved about Five.

(It had been a very short list, really. For all her faults, Vanya had been kind to the siblings she thought dead. Kinder, at least, than she had been to those she’d known to be alive.)

But The Handler had something he--infuriatingly--didn’t: a reliable method of time travel and access to food that wasn’t a bug or twenty years expired.

(He would never be able to so much as  _ look _ at a Twinkie again.)

 

They don’t send him on missions right away. His body is strong but he is concerningly malnourished. Five is fairly certain his mind has suffered some sort of damage as well (though he can’t quite place his finger on what that damage might be, other than the nightmares and the flashbacks and the knowledge that he would never truly be full, not ever again), though no one at the Commission seems overly concerned about that. 

When they do start sending him on missions, Five finds that he is very good at them. The manta of “Survive” that had kept him alive during his years alone also allows him to do the terrible, unspeakable things required of him by the Commission. His success in the field coupled with the mystery of his only designation being “Five” makes him something of a celebrity among the other field workers. Five finds it all rather tedious.

Every spare moment, every spare thought, goes into his calculations. His success with the Commission means nothing. It is only a stop, a waystation. He hasn’t forgotten his mission to get back to his family, to stop the apocalypse. The nervous babbling of some junior assassin asking for tips from “ _ the  _ Five, oh my gosh, I can’t believe it!” is nothing more than an unwanted distraction.

He spends less and less time at the Commission, takes fewer and fewer breaks between missions. Every mission involves a short period of reconnaissance, anyway. He can rest in his next time period.

It is as he is setting up to shoot Kennedy (Lee Harvey Oswald, having had a crisis of conscious at the last moment, was currently being knocked out and transported to the scene so the rest of the timeline could play out as originally planned.) that the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place for Five. 

He can go back. He can save his family, stop the apocalypse, save the world. For the first time in years, he calls on his powers, using them to tear a hole in time and space, his rifle forgotten behind him. 

(In their confusion over his sudden disappearance, the two agents tasked with returning Oswald would, in a panic, both fire on the unfortunate president, protecting the timeline but confusing historians for many years to come.)

 

Being in the body of his thirteen year old self again is proving...difficult. He keeps forgetting. Then someone would call him “kid” or “young man” and he would be reminded that no one was prepared to take him seriously. Even Vanya, who’s words had kept him marginally sane throughout the decades, is unable to accept what he has told her. He can see it in the way she bandages his arm, the way she makes up the couch for him (though not in the way she gives him a double pour of whiskey) that, though she believes his mind is over fifty, her eyes can’t get past the apparent youth of his body.

So he leaves.

He would wonder later if it all could have been avoided if he had just stayed.

 

As the moon comes hurtling towards him (which finally answered the question of what--other than the rampant destruction and lack of life--had seemed so  _ off _ about the apocalypse: the moon had been gone) and he stands in a circle of his siblings, their young face staring back at him, Five wonders if this is going to be his life for the rest of time: trying to stop the apocalypse, failing, and then trying again.

At least this time, he isn’t alone, his mind whispers. As he takes in the faces of his terrified siblings, Five knows that’s not necessarily true. He knows that his family (as much as he cares for them) will dissolve into their usual squabbles the second they land in whichever time period he’s sending them (and he’s trying not to dwell too much on that last point, that he doesn’t  _ know _ when he’s sending them. The first trip back had taken him decades to figure out--this one he was doing on the fly). It will be up to him--again--to ignore the petty intricacies of family drama to focus on the big picture and save the world.

He feels tired, as he sends them back. Tired in a way he’s come to associate with his time in the apocalypse: a weariness that lives in the mind, not the bones, and asks him: “Is it even worth it?”

 

_ “And I’ve lived so much life, _

_ Lived so much life, _

_ I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice.” _ _ _


	2. Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego.

_ “I got rage every day, on the inside, _

_ The only thing I do is sit around and kill time.” _

 

When Diego leaves the Umbrella Academy at not-so-tender age of seventeen, he somewhat smugly (and very much mistakenly) believes that he is the first of his siblings to recognize his father’s neglect and abuse. 

(He’s not, of course. That title belongs to Vanya, followed closely by Ben, Five, and Klaus. He’s simply the first to actually leave the old man, and, really, it could be argued that  _ that _ title actually belongs to Five, with his early and sudden disappearance.)

As he leaves the gates with the now-hated symbol behind him, he thinks to himself that the outside world will be nothing compared to life with his father. If he can live through the endless missions, the training that certainly couldn’t have been legal (and that left him with what would likely be a permanent scar on the side of his head) and the endless competition between himself and his siblings, then, certainly, he can live through anything. 

He is right, and he is wrong. He will live through what the coming years throws at him, though it seems more likely that he will live through it in  _ spite _ of his youth rather than because of it.

 

He joins the police academy as soon as they will take him. He doesn’t really know what else to do. His childhood was spent training: learning to throw knives, learning to throw a punch, learning to be quick on his feet so that he can get past Luthor’s larger but lower frame. The others had picked up other hobbies: Ben’s reading, Allison’s acting, Luthor’s watching Allison (Diego tried not to think about that one too much), Vanya’s...whatever Vanya did. But Diego had never bothered with anything outside getting stronger, getting faster. And so, when he first enters the outside world, he is at a little bit of a loss. Until he remembers cops are a thing.

(Which sounds terrible, but when your childhood consists of doing things cops can’t, of stopping crimes too big or too complex or too expensive for them, they tend to fall a bit off of the radar.)

At the police academy, Diego was an immediate success. His childhood spent building his physical prowess puts him leaps and bounds ahead of the other rookies, and the study habits drilled into him by his father ensure that he is able to pass the written tests, too. 

The other rookies are awed by him--Number Two, the Kraken--and Diego basks in the attention. He meets Eudora Patch. Life is good.

 

Until it’s not. The first few months of the academy are easy enough. But as time goes on, Diego starts to lose patience with the whole process. He’s already proven himself better than all the other trainees--why does he have to finish out the six month course? Why can’t they just give him his badge now?

Eudora tries to keep him calm, and for a while it works. He puts up with the glacial pace of the academy. He endures the lack-luster skills of the others. He waits.

Until he gets a phone call. 

Klaus calls him, after five months of silence. Diego hasn’t spoken to his brother--hasn’t really thought about him, to be honest--since he left. But Klaus is on the phone and he is sobbing. 

Klaus has been on some drug or another since they were thirteen--at first, Diego just assumes this whole mess is the result of a bad trip, and he tries to shoo Klaus off the line. But then a word breaks free of Klaus’ babbling and lodges in Diego’s brain.

“ _ Dead. _ ”

Dead. Someone is dead. Not Klaus, obviously. Allison? Ben? Maybe Luthor. It has to be Luthor. If it were anyone else, then Number One would have assumed the responsibility of making the call, wouldn’t he? 

Luthor, dead. 

“I’ll be right there,” Diego barks across Klaus’ continued wailing, and hangs up. 

He runs the ten blocks to the Academy, his mind whirling. Luthor, dead. Luthor, done. No more Number One. This would be the end of the team. How would they go on without their leader. A part of Diego’s mind plays with the idea of returning, of leading the team in his brother’s place, but he just as quickly dismisses it. 

Nothing would ever get him back under his Father’s control.

He goes in through the back, pass the old bakery cases. He finds them gathered in the kitchen. His eyes sweep over the room, Vanya and Allison at the table, holding each other. Klaus, in the corner, his face to his knees, shaking. 

Luthor, at the window, slowly grinding the window sill to rubble between his tense, white hands.

Diego freezes. Allison and Vanya look up at him, and there is blood smeared on Allison’s temples, and Vanya’s eyes are swollen. Klaus keeps shaking. Luthor keeps destroying the window sill.

And Ben is dead.

 

Things...go downhill, after Ben. Diego won’t return home, can’t, but he can’t waste time with the police academy, either. The process is too slow, the paper work even slower, and he can’t just let more innocent people die while he plays by their stupid rules. 

So he leaves. Takes to prowling the streets at night. He breaks out the old domino mask, carefully cutting out the stupid white mesh that had once covered his eyes--it had always made it harder to aim.

He keeps in touch with Eudora, and later, starts to touch Eudora. Things are bad, but they start to get good again. He survived Ben dying, he can survive anything else.

The idea that there can’t be anything worse than what he has already lived through is something that Diego has always held on to. It is an idea that is always proven wrong.

 

Eudora leaves him, in the end. Says he was fun, but his way of doing things gets in the way of  _ real _ police work. 

( _ “Not good enough,” _ his brain supplies, “ _ You will never be good enough. _ ”)

Diego endures. 

Vanya’s book comes out. 

(“ _ Never good enough, look at you, in the shadow of Number One, throwing temper tantrums. _ ”

Diego endures.

Father dies.

(“ _ He never acknowledged you, never said you were doing well for yourself. _ ”)

Diego considers throwing a party. The death reunites him with his siblings (and Vanya) and gives him a chance to see Mom for the first time since Ben’s death. 

Things are good.

 

Until, inevitably, they aren’t. Five is back, Allison can’t speak, Klaus can manifest their dead brother, Luthor’s an ape, and Vanya is destroying the world.

As Five prepares to take them back in time, to try and stop the apocalypse (again), Diego wonders, really, if he’s lived through this, what else can the universe throw at him?

If only he knew.

 

“ _ If I can live through this, _

_ I can do anything.” _ _ _


	3. Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya.

_ “I think I’ve got too many memories getting in the way of me, _

_ I’m ‘bout to go Tonya Harding on the whole world’s knee.” _

 

It builds, the anger.

No, that’s not right.

It’s  _ been _ building, ever since she was a girl. Ever since they’d locked her in this cage the first time.

As Vanya stares into the window, stares at the reflection of a lost, scared little girl, she feels the anger finally get to be too much.

Vanya’s written a book. She knows the cliches, the turns of phrases. Passion “bubbles over,” tears “slip out” and rage “boils over.” Vanya’s rage does not “boil over.” That would imply that it had only just reached the surface, was only just slightly spilling over. That it was outside of her control. No, Vanya  _ knows _ what she is doing. She takes her rage, and she throws it at the world.

The wall of the cage crashes down, and Vanya steps out. She can feel the wind swirling around her, the sound of her heart--beating steadily, now--filling her up with power that she uses to tear down the rest of the vault as she steps free of it.

They were afraid of her? They didn’t even know a  _ fraction  _ of what she was capable of.

She takes the elevator up to the main levels, staring at her reflection in the polished doors. She sees her teenaged self there, drugged and full of doubt. She sees her four year old self, scared and betrayed.

Never again.

As she steps free of the elevator, memories of the rooms she passes begin to assault her. Her father, turning her away. Pogo, telling her the others were out on a mission, and shouldn’t she be studying? Her siblings, refusing to include her. Mom.

Mom, Vanya realized, who had been created as a means to control her.

_ ‘Control this.’ _ Vanya thinks, and the house begins to crumble around her. 

She’s aware of her siblings in the house, of Mom and Pogo. She can hear them, screaming, calling to one another, trying to get out before she can reach them. Vanya doesn’t bother to hurry. If they let themselves be in her way, she would end them. If they stayed out of her way...well. She  _ did _ have a concert to get too, afterall. 

And they do, they get out of her way. All except Pogo.

“Did you know?” She asks him. She knows the answer. She remembers, now, years of isolation and trauma and mind control swept away to reveal the terrible truth.

But she wants to hear him say it.

And he does, and so she kills him. Because he lied to her, because he made her trust him, and because she can. 

If anyone notices something off about Vanya, they keep it to themselves. Must be some sort of survival instinct, thing.

Vanya feels better, more alive, than she ever has. She can _ feel _ everything, and now that she knows the truth about her life, she feels free in a way she never did before. The Umbrella Academy is done--both the building and the team. Her siblings haven’t worked together in almost a decade, and their squabbling over the last few days prove they’re not likely to get back together. As for the building--well. Vanya had taken care of that.

Maybe without their father pushing them to be the team he’d always dreamt of them being, without the reminder if their childhood home, her siblings would be able to find freedom, too.

As the music starts to swell around Vanya, she lets some of her rage and anger fade. She can move on from this. So can her siblings. They might not ever be a family, but at least they can be free.

 

_ “The only thing that’s ever stopping me is me, hey, _

_ The only thing that’s ever stopping me is me, hey.” _ _ _


	4. HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben & Klaus.

_ “Confidants but never friends, _

_ Were we ever friends?” _

 

Here’s the thing. Ben knows Klaus hates his ability, hates the ghosts that pester and scream at him, hates the trauma each wailing spirits reminds him of. And Ben doesn’t really blame Klaus for it (even if Klaus probably also hates Ben, ‘cause, hey, Ben is also a pestering spirit); they had some pretty fucked up childhoods. Ben gets it.

What Ben doesn’t get is the drugs. Or maybe he does, and that’s part of the problem.

Because he understands wanting to separate himself from his powers, to not have to deal with them. 

Of course, now, Ben doesn’t really have to deal with much of anything. Except Klaus.

Klaus, whom he follows around, nagging to get clean or even just--hey! Maybe eat something (because Klaus is addict skinny and sometimes, when Klaus eschews his clothes in typical Klaus fashion, Ben can count the knobs of his spine). Klaus, whom he follows and pesters and whines at. Klaus, whom he follows because he doesn’t know what else to do.

When Ben had died, there had been a moment where he knew he could move on--go to whatever was next--and, without any hesitation whatsoever, Ben had turned tail and run right back to the world of the living. Maybe it was the suddenness of his death or maybe it was the fear of what would be waiting for him (none of them were particularly religious, but if there was a hell, it was probably reserved for the guy literally called “The Horror” as his “superhero” name who had murdered dozens of people at the behest of his adopted father all for the “greater good”), but Ben knew from the second the option presented itself that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever was next. 

He hadn’t necessarily meant to run to Klaus--whom he had never been particularly close with, but really, none of them had been particularly close (except Luthor and Allison, but that was  _ weird _ )--but as soon as he re-entered the world of the living--as much as he was able to, anyway--there had been a sort of glow that he could always see out of the corner of his eye or just over the horizon. Curious and terrified, Ben had gone toward it like a moth to a flame: without reason, without thought, and without concern for getting burned.

The glow, as it turned out, was Klaus. It turned out he was like a beacon for the dead, which was why they were constantly yelling to him. And when Ben joined the not-so-heavenly host of spectral spectators, Ben saw the first real crack in Klaus’ carefully constructed carefree facade. 

There had been a moment, just a moment, when Ben could tell that Klaus hadn’t realized Ben was dead. Klaus had looked at him as Ben approached him on the street, and grinned like he always did when he met a sibling: large and charming, ready to ask for a small loan. 

But then someone had walked through Ben, and Ben could see Klaus stop breathing as his brain processed. He stopped walking and just stared, the grin dropping, his eyes widening. His lips moved, a word like “no,” and then he turned and ran.

And Ben followed, because what else could he do? He followed Klaus then, and he was following Klaus now, and he would likely be following Klaus until Klaus found his own little grave to lie down in.

And then what would he do?

 

Here’s the thing. Klaus knows he isn’t the best brother to get stuck with. He’s messed up in a way none of the others could even begin to touch, and his idea of a good time is getting a hair close to death only to be resurrected in the back of an ambulance by Tim, his favorite EMT (Tim likely should have gone into a slightly different profession, such as serial murdering, as he got just a tiny bit too much pleasure finding Klaus almost dead and then bringing him back again and again and again. But hey, who was Klaus to judge?)

So when Ben gets moody and gloomy and just follows him without talking for days on end, Klaus gets it. He’s a lost cause, they all knew it, hell, the homeless lady on the corner of third and Osprey knew it: she gave him looks of pity every time he wander past, even as she offered handies to randos on the corner. It must suck all sorts of ass for him to be the brother to be stuck with. At least Luthor and Diego had sense of purpose, fucked up though they were. Allison would have been great; she had the fancy job and the fancy clothes and the fancy husband. Even Vanya, with her tidy little life and her music would have been better than him.

But hey, he can see ghosts, so here they were. “Here” being the tiny abandoned apartment he was squatting in. Ben wavered in and out of Klaus’ vision as the cocktail of uppers and hallucinogens meandered through his veins, taking the scenic tour to his central nervous system. Usually, when Klaus was getting high like this, he liked to look at anything but Ben’s face, heavy with disappointment. But today, Klaus focused on him with as much attention as he could muster.

“Sorry it was me, Benny-boy,” Klaus slurred. Ben frowned. Or maybe he smiled. He seemed to be spinning a bit and facial expressions were hard to make out on people who were spinning. 

 

Klaus doesn’t remember much after his most recent trip, and he isn’t given much time to reflect. The owner of the building bursts in with a baseball bat and uses it to shoo Klaus out of the apartment. Once he’s out on his ass in front of the building, the landlord tossing his clothes out the window, Klaus looks up at Ben. “I’m thinking waffles.”

Ben frowns, and Klaus bites back a sigh as he prepares himself for some sort of lecture. 

“Get eggs, too. Protein will keep you going longer.”

Klaus blinks a bit at that. Ben’s usually harping on him to eat more--something about looking like a 90’s model with bulimia--but that was usually in the duller moments, the moments when Ben didn’t have more important things to nag at him about. Such as finding a new place to live, since he had just been thrown from his current (illegal) residence.

“Kay. Eggs and waffles. And oooh, bacon. Yeah. Full breakfast.”

Do his eyes deceive him, or was that a smile? Might be some lingering effects of the drugs. “How are you going to pay for this full breakfast?

Klaus shrugs, pulling his legs into the lotus position as he considers Ben standing over him. “Was thinking a dine and dash.”

He waits expectantly for the lecture. Ben’s jaw clenches a bit for a moment, then eases. “I’ll be lookout.”

Klaus blinks rapidly. That was new. He considers Ben for a moment, wondering if his brother had been replaced by a different ghost. “Kay.” He finally says. He heaves himself to his feet. “I think there’s a Waffle House down this way somewhere.”

As they head off to find food for Klaus, each brother is wondering the same thing. 

“Maybe he doesn’t hate me, afterall.”

_ “Oh n-n-no, _

_ No, this isn’t how our story ends.” _

 


	5. The Last of the Real Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison.

_ “You are the sun and I am just the planets, _

_ Spinning around you, Spinning around you, _

_ You were too good to be true, _

_ Gold plated.” _

Sometimes, when she’s feeling maudlin, Alison thinks of the world’s perception of her.

She recognizes this is rather conceited of her, thinking the world even  _ has _ an opinion of her, but she’s also aware of the spotlight she’s been in her whole life and how it has painted her.

She is Number Three of the Umbrella Academy. Rumor. That was who she was until she was eighteen. Then she was Alison Hargreaves, actress. She has been sister, daughter, wife; she is defined in relation to: her relation to Sir Reginald Hargreeves, her relation to her siblings, her relation to her husband. Something about it had always irked her, the sexism of it all. The others had been allowed to adopt identities other their relation to one another, but she had always been the sister, the girl. She spent an entire year furious with Vanya once, when they were sixteen, because Alison had endured yet another interview where the boys were asked about their skills and their goals and she was asked what she thought about their uniforms. If Vanya had just had powers, she would have been on the team, too. Then Alison wouldn’t have been “the girl.”

It was unfair and as soon as Alison had realized she was blaming Vanya for something out of her control (and taken another month to get over her embarrassment about her reaction) Alison had made it a point to be extra nice to her sister.

Of course, none of that mattered, now. People hardly ever brought up the Umbrella Academy any more; they were far more interested in whichever movie she was starring in that year (this, of course, didn’t mean the line of questioning changed overmuch; she still received “the girl” questions while her male co-stars were asked about their acting methods and what they had hoped to portray) and with her husband.

Alison was still defined in relation, yes, but at least now she had more say in what those relations were.

And then she had Claire.

If there was one thing Alison had been made very aware of during her time as a Woman on This Planet, it was that many people still found being a Mother to be the most virtuous thing a woman could ever do. Alison had been fairly opposed to children because of it. But her husband wanted kids. He wanted them so badly, and Alison had such guilt (“I heard a rumor that you love me”) that she agreed.

It was ten months of hell--ten, not nine. She didn’t know who had said that a pregnancy should last nine months, but it was definitely a solid ten. Ten months of her body changing, of her hormones going wild. It was like puberty, but instead shooting up, she shot out. She stared in horror, not wonder as her body stretched and stretched and stretched, and she wondered how it would ever go back to how it was before. 

And then labor--dear god, the labor! It had taken close to thirty hours, and she threatened to kill Patrick through most of them, and she understood now why she had always heard that women must forget the pain of labor immediately after it was over: if anyone remembered the full severity of it, the human race would have died out way before whatever genetic quirk that had allowed her to exist had come to pass.

But then the nurse handed her a baby. Alison had read about this, she knew what would happen. The baby would be placed against her bare chest and a bonding hormone would be released, activating all those motherly instincts Alison had heard so much about.

She had read about it. She knew what would happen. But, dear god, she had never expected it to be so strong. From the second the nurse laid Claire against Alison and Alison was able to view this person she had created for the first time, Alison knew she would die for her, kill for her, do whatever she had to to keep this tiny perfect thing safe.

Alison was defined by relation to Claire after that.

And she did not mind one single bit.

She kept acting, kept working, and found joy in things that were not her child. Being a mom did not mean she stopped being a person. But seeing Claire always made her smile, and she loved the time she spent playing with her daughter, teaching her to walk, to talk, to laugh and play and sing.

She loved her life. 

She loved it even when Claire was screaming her head off because Alison had picked out the wrong pajamas or because she wasn’t allowed a second scoop of ice cream or because screaming was just what she felt like doing at that moment. Alison still loved her life, loved her daughter, but she loved her life a little less at those moments. Everything else made up for it, of course, and she knew it was all a part of a normal childhood, but the endless screaming still started to wear her down.

She found herself getting less and less patient with Claire as these meltdowns became more and more frequent. She snapped more and threatened more and the timeouts lasted longer. And then one day, as she was yelling at Claire to please, stop screaming, and brush her teeth, she found herself saying “I heard a rumor that you want to get ready for bed.” And Claire just...stopped. She stopped screaming and looked up at Alison with red eyes but a small smile and said “It’s almost time for bed, Mommy!” 

She was in bed and asleep in record time that night, giving Alison plenty of time to fret over what she had done. She shouldn’t have rumored Claire. Right? She should have just been patient with her and reasoned with her like a good parent, a  _ normal _ parent.

But she wasn’t a normal parent, was she? Even beyond her powers, Claire had a nanny that looked after her when Alison was at a filming or Patrick was out working. They had a cook and a maid and Claire had tutors coming to the house to teach her Mandarin. Their’s was not a normal family and Alison was  _ not _ a normal mom. Cooks and nannies and tutors were fine and accepted, though, because their income level allowed them to pay for it.

And maybe rumoring was fine because Alison just so happened to have the ability. Any other parent in her position would use it too, right? And certainly getting Claire ready for bed on time so she got the amount of sleep her body needed wasn’t a bad thing, right?

It was, of course, a terrible thing to use mind control on your daughter. But Alison didn’t realize that, wouldn’t let herself thing about that, until Patrick caught her doing it and filed for divorce. It wasn’t until a judge ordered her to therapy before she could so much as see her daughter that Alison realized the full extent of the damage she had done.

She had broken her daughter’s trust. She had forced her to behave in a way that was unnatural to her. She had controlled her in a way that Reginald Hargreeves would have absolutely done if he had had the ability to, and, really, that should have been her first hint. 

She was defined in her relationship to Claire. She was her mother. And she was a terrible one. 

Alison received fewer and fewer invitations to audition for movies as her divorce was splashed across every tabloid and gossip site, but she couldn’t care less. She couldn’t care less what the world thought of her or her parenting or her acting or her anything. All she wanted to do was apologize to Claire, to make it right.

She attended her court ordered therapy religiously, and was never late for the weekly phone call she was allowed with Claire. She cried for the first three calls until Patrick threatened to take away even that privilege, claiming that Alison’s guilt was causing Claire to feel guilt. And maybe he was right. So Alison went to therapy and made her calls and only cried when no one was around to see or hear.

And when she got the call that her adopted father had died...well. It would mean missing one of her therapy sessions. She waffled. She had very little time to make up her mind if she was going to catch a plane in time. All of her siblings would converge upon the house. Maybe not so much to pay their last respects as to reassure themselves the old man was really gone.

And that was what made Alison decide. Reginald Hargreeves had taught her to use her power, encouraged her to use it. He had manipulated each of them and, in so doing, taught her that manipulation was okay. Maybe he wasn’t the sole reason she was messed up, but he certainly had something to do with it. And she owed it to herself to see his funeral for herself, to be sure that he was dead.

And then she could make sure she was never,  _ ever _ , defined by Sir Reginald Hargreeves ever again.

_ "I'm here at the beginning of the end, _

_ Oh, the end of infinity with you." _


	6. Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five/Dolores.

_ “Woke up on the wrong side of the paradise, _

_ So when I say I’m sorry I’m late I wasn’t showing up at all.” _

 

Going back to the past was not a hope of Five’s but a knowledge. A fact. Hope implied that it might not happen, and he simply couldn’t face that possibility. So when he plotted and planned and spoke of it to Dolores, he always spoke of it in terms of certainty. “When I get back,” “When I go back,” “Once I’m back,” etc. 

Dolores would always give him this  _ look _ which he would then ignore because to acknowledge it would be to open himself to her argument that it was entirely possible that he never actually  _ would _ go back. And, unfortunately for him, it was a pretty damn good argument.

So he would ignore her looks and she would sigh and then they wouldn’t speak for several hours. Because Five was desperate to get back, to save the world, and Dolores couldn’t understand why he would be willing to leave her. He always said she was the only good thing about the apocalypse, so why couldn’t he just stay with her and be happy?

Of course, Five had never been particularly good at “Happy.”

(He remembered his siblings sneaking out at night to get donuts from the place around the corner. The furtive looks and the nervous giggles. The raucous laughter as one of them vomited in an alley from eating too many of the pastries. He remembered, most of all, standing there with them, wishing he were asleep instead of wasting time with such childish nonsense. And he wished so hard that he had simply allowed himself to be childish and that he had vomited in that alley, too.)

When Five had first met Dolores, she hadn’t liked him at all. And, looking back, he didn’t blame her. He’d been a brat, plain and simple. And, what’s more, a brat that had been separated from his family and promptly traumatized. The whole experience didn’t really make him a fun person to be around.

They spent their first few years together arguing. She came with him because, really, what else was she going to do? And he let her because he needed someone, anyone, to talk to to; to bounce ideas off of and to rant to and to reminisce to and to cry to (he stopped crying fairly quickly. It accomplished nothing and made the dust stick to his face more than it already did). 

But she argued with every idea he sent her way. Obviously he couldn’t use his powers to jump back; barring the part where he’d already failed to do so, the fact that he had even made it as far as he did without completely losing his mind was a minor miracle. Getting back would require him to have a better understanding of the space-time continuum than he currently did. 

She also had a problem with his idea of trying to determine the origin of his powers so that he could apply them to some sort of mechanical device that would either enhance his natural powers and let him jump back--physics be damned--or, alternatively, do the jumping for him while protecting him in a static, non-temporally affected, enclosed space. Her argument consisted of “This isn’t a science fiction television show, and if you don’t have the quantum physics knowledge to transport yourself with your own innate powers, you sure as fuck don’t have the knowledge to build a device to do it for you.”

Which, granted, was a valid point. But it still wasn’t  _ helpful _ .

Over the years, as Five grew and ran out of ideas for Dolores to shoot down, their relationship became easier, even friendly. She offered him encouragement whenever he felt like just giving up and finding a nice cliff to throw himself off of. She didn’t particularly approve of his mission, even then, but when the reality of his world and everything that he had lost--which was, truly,  _ everything _ \--she would remind him of the family that he was trying to get back to, of the world he was trying to save. And when the nightmares of his dead siblings unfamiliar, grown faces haunted his sleep, she would remind him of all the times he’d spent with his siblings when they were all young together, and remind him why he needed to make sure he never saw those dead faces again.

And both of them tried not to dwell on why he had never been able to find Vanya’s body.

 

As Five entered manhood (which in the apocalyptic world he lived in didn’t mean anything other than the endless growth spurts that left him constantly hungry were finally slowing as his metabolism realized it wasn’t going to get any better than some bugs and one truly disgusting twinkie), he started to look at Dolores differently. She had become a comfort to him: someone who was just as smart as he was and so would voice all the flaws in his plans that he was too proud or desperate to acknowledge; but also someone who was able to remind him everything and everyone he was trying to get back to. She was his sounding board and his rock and it was startling for only a moment to realize he’d fallen in love with her before he realized it had been inevitable from the start. She was his constant companion and she knew him better than anyone ever had--of course he loved her.

And he was so relieved when she said she loved him back. He hadn’t been sure what he would do if she hadn’t felt the same. 

But acknowledging their feelings for one another, unfortunately, started the arguing again. Because now, instead of encouraging Five and reminding him that he needed to get back to his siblings, she started telling him to be strong for her. To keep going for her. To always be there for her. She didn’t want him to leave her, to go to a world where they didn’t know one another and then to ensure the world where they met never happened. 

It started simply enough, with her just not mentioning his family or his mission. But as he spoke of them both more to fill Dolores’ silences, she started fighting with him. “Why don’t you want to stay with me? Why am I not enough for you? Why do you want to leave behind here on my own?”

And Five never knew how to answer her. 

Joining the Commission was the hardest thing he ever did. He knew it would mean leaving Dolores behind, but it was his only real chance at going back in time. He had been trying for decades to use his powers to jump back, but while he had managed and mastered spatial jumps, time jumps simply seemed to be beyond him. And he had held on to his belief that he would go back some day so hard that he knew this was his chance. His opportunity. It had always been a matter of when, and he had always known he would have to leave Dolores.

He just hadn’t been prepared for how hard that reality would be.

The Handler granted him a few minutes to say goodbye. She’d smiled at him, and it had been awful, but she’d agreed. 

Five set Dolores up in the space they’d called home for the past few weeks, and just looked at her. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring steadfastly to the right and slightly above him. 

“We always knew this day was coming,” Five started.

Dolores said nothing. 

“It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just--” 

Dolores let the silence drag on, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“I’ll find you,” Five finally said, firmly. “I’ll bide my time with the Commission and, when I get back, I’ll find you. We can be together. Just not here.”

Dolores said nothing, but Five thought he could see tears in her still gaze. “I love you.” She didn’t say anything back. “I will always love you.” And even though she wouldn’t say it back, still hadn’t met his gaze, Five caressed her face one last time, and turned his back on her, making his way to where the Handler was waiting.

He would keep his promised. He would. It was a fact.

“ _ I hate all my friends I missed the days when I pretended, _

_ I hate all my friends I missed the days when I pretended, with you.” _


	7. Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther/Allison, one sided.

“ _If you were church, I’d get on my knees,_

_Confess my love, I know where to be.”_

From the very beginning, Alison and Luther had been...close. His siblings hadn’t seen it and Dad had ignored it, but Alison...Alison was everything to Luther. Well, almost. His missions came first, of course, he had a duty to use his power, his gift, to keep the world safe. But after that came Alison.

Alison, for whom he’d risk his life. Alison, for whom he’d break Dad’s rules. Alison...who he loved. Who he had always loved.

Seeing her again, after everything, it...it almost breaks him. His accident, that had been hard. Living alone on the moon had been hard. Losing Dad...that had been harder than both combined. But seeing Alison for the first time in years….He wants to pull her close, to hold her in the way he’d never been brave enough to, to tell her everything he’s been through, to tell her how much he misses dad and how much he’d missed her; _god_ he had missed her.

And she looks good, looks amazing. She always has. And he just wants to stare at her, to soak in the sight of her.

But that would be weird and he’s not weird, or, at the very least, he’s trying _so hard_ not to be weird, so he doesn’t do any of that. He talks to her. And it’s as easy as it’s always been, once they get past the subject of her estranged family. She gets him, always has. The others...the others hadn’t always...liked him, so much. He and Diego had been at each other's throats since practically they learned to walk and certainly since they day they learned to throw a punch (at roughly the age of four, give or take a few months). Klaus had always found him too serious, and Ben had never been particularly devoted to the cause. Five was too aloof and Vanya was too...ordinary. But Alison had always understood him, and always agreed with him and followed his plans without complaint, though with occasional revisions and improvements.

Luther had always thought she would have made a much better Number Two than Diego.

 

His first sign that things have changed between the two of them comes when he tries--gently--to suggest that perhaps Dad’s killer (and Dad was murdered, he doesn’t care what Diego has to say on the matter. Diego is a police academy drop out, a shoddy vigilante, and, frankly, an idiot) is one of the seven of them, and Alison gives him this look of such utter disappointment that he (briefly) wishes he were back on the moon.

What had changed? Why couldn’t she see that he was right? She used to be on his side, no matter what. Now…

Now she had a family. A family that didn’t include him. He thought of the way she talked about Claire, the way she used to talk about Patrick. They hadn’t talked about Patrick very often--they hadn’t talked often, period, by that point in her life--but when she had...Luther usually had to break something afterwards, to left off the anger and the jealousy and the bitterness that he hadn’t reached out to her, gone after her, when he had the chance.

And now maybe she doesn’t have Patrick, but she does have Claire, and Claire will always be first in her life. Claire is her Number One, now.

 

Even though things aren’t quite the same between them, Luther keeps noticing these moment of...almost, between them. Moments where they’d almost tough, or they’d almost share a secret smile. Where things were almost the same. When she shows him the security footage, when she trusts him with that and comes to him...and then, later, when she backs him on turning off Mom--God, he’s almost euphoric. He thinks he might have been, if the situation itself wasn’t quite so dark. Dad dead and murdered by Mom. He had never seen that twist coming his way.

And it’s bad, of course it is, but still--Alison might be coming back to him.

He thinks he has a shot with her, to get things right this time--until assassins break into the house, until that chandelier falls on him, until his shirt rips and Alison, god, _Alison_ , sees what’s happened to him. What he’s become. And then, feeling like a coward for the first time in his life, he runs.

He has been trying to run to Alison for as long as he can remember. This is the first time he’s ever run away from her.

 

Afterwards, they never talk about it. It’s never brought up, and they keep having their almost moments. Diego throws some cheap shots his way, so Luther knows they saw, knows they understand, but Alison...doesn’t seem phased by it. She just keeps treating him the same way she had since she came home. And Luther...Luther loves her even more for it.

He loves her so much that when they find her days later with her throat slashed, lying in a pool of her own blood, he wants to rip his throat out and lie there next to her, their blood mingling and their pain mingling and their loss mingling. Because he doesn’t think he can do this without her, can go on without her.

She’s been the thing he’s pictured in every moment of weakness. When all the others moved out and it was just him left, he’d pictured Alison everytime Dad had sent him alone on a mission; reminded himself he was doing this to keep _her_ safe. And when he’d been alone on the moon, staring off into the empty black of space, he would think of her on the Earth below him, looking up at the moon, at him. And he would keep going. And now, knowing that she might not make it...he’s not sure he will, either.

And when she does make it, when she’s survived but mute (and god, if he never hears her voice again, that might not kill him, but it’ll get pretty damn close), when she tells him that _Vanya_ of all people is the person that did this to her...well.

He knows then and there that he’ll do whatever he has to to make sure Vanya never hurts Alison ever again.

_“Oh the things that you do in the name of what you love,_

_You were doomed but just enough,_

_You were doomed but just enough.”_

 


	8. Heaven’s Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus/Dave.

“ _ If there were anymore left of me, _

_ I’d give it to you. _ ”

Klaus starts smoking pot several years before the crypt incident. He finds that a quick joint between meals makes the spirits that follow him around a bit...softer. They are no less angry, no less terrifying, but they don’t quite bother him as much. They’re a little fuzzy around the edges and their shrill, shrieking voices sound a bit like they’re coming through water.

It’s all just so much easier to handle with a little bit of pot hitchhiking through his veins. 

Of course, Dad, the bastard, catches on eventually. And when Klaus tells him why--Hello crypt time! 

Dad leaves him in there for hours. How the man had figured out that, while ghosts can--and very much will--find him everywhere, they’re stronger and angrier at the site of their interment, is beyond Klaus. Oh, sure, it seems common knowledge, but only if you watch the sort of shows where people go out hunting ghosts and get freaked out when the wind blows open a door.

Klaus can’t really picture Sir Reginald Hargreeves, father of the year and master mind fucker, sitting down to watch  _ Ghost Hunters. _

However he had decided on that particular nightmare, it had backfired. Sure, Klaus saw plenty of ghosts that night--while perfectly sober--several of them had also followed him out of that crypt to continue their haunting routine. But if Reggie had thought to scare Klaus clean, he chose the wrong way to go about it. On the day following his night in the crypt, Klaus met up with his usual pot dealer and, without even glancing at the little baggie his dealer was offering him, asked for something stronger.

Fast forward a decade or so and Klaus couldn’t name all the substances in his veins if you paid him. Though, if you were interested in paying him, he would happily name several drugs that he would  _ like _ to be in his system, several that probably  _ are _ , and at least three drugs that he’s made up on the spot  _ Cash-now-please-and-thank-you-nice-doing-business-with-you-come-again. _

The ghosts haven’t gotten any quieter--quite the opposite--and he finds he needs more and more drugs to quiet the voices of the dearly not-so-departed and not-so-dear. But Klaus has experience with these things, now. He’s not some shaking, snot nosed kid in an alley trying to figure out if he wants an upper, downer, hallucinogen, or tanq while his antsy dealer is growing more and more impatient. He now knows the answer is “all of the above and do you offer frequent flyers discounts?”

Ben sighs at him (Ben is a  _ very _ good sigher; he has, like, ten different sighs for different occasions and they are all very distinct and very good at expressing exactly what he is too put-upon to express) while Klaus lines up his coke or heats up his smack or--and this is fun--sucks on his molly-pop, but Klaus has found that even Ben--stubborn fucker that he is--can be quieted for a time with enough drugs in his system. And sure, part of him feels bad for banishing Ben from his sight (though possibly not from the realm of the living--Klaus isn’t really sure how that works. It’s all very “if a tree falls down in the middle of the forest, and no one is around to hear it…”) for a little bit, but a larger, louder part of his is also very sure that he and Ben both deserve a break from one another now and then, so, really, he’s doing them both a favor.  _ You’re welcome _ .

His stints in rehab are always the worst. He’s not even sure how he keeps ending up in rehab--he’s been there at least six times and only three of them have been court ordered, so who the hell keeps throwing him in there when he’s not looking? Because that’s what happens. He’s perfectly fine, blitzed out of his mind on some park bench somewhere, and when he comes back around BOOM rehab. It’s not even fair. He’s fairly certain rehab--when not court ordered by the state of New York--is supposed to be a  _ voluntary _ thing. He very much did not volunteer for this  _ can he get his drugs back, please _ .

The answer is usually no, sit down, eat your jello, and tell us about your feelings.

_ Feelings _ are not something Klaus wants to explore. He feels like “Gay man with severe daddy issues and a more fucked up childhood than you could ever imagine” should really cover all the bases and give him a pass from having to delve any deeper. His therapists disagree, usually with the sort of glint in their eye that says “Hello, new grant, meet my newest case study.”

But they have to release him in thirty days, whether or not (and it’s always a very firm  _ not _ ) he’s expressed his emotional trauma. Then it’s a quick trip to his dealer and back into the gentle embrace of whatever the catch of the day is.

Until Vietnam.

It’s not that drugs were hard to get in the Vietnam War--quite the opposite. Within an hour of figuring out what the everloving fuck was going on, Klaus was able to score heroin, was prescribed amphetamines by the unit commander, and received an additional prescription for a tranquilizer from the unit medic. Minus the war part, Vietnam was quickly turning into Klaus’ very own personal version of paradise. The ghosts hadn’t even found him yet, so he was free to enjoy his high without any sort of distraction--not even Ben.

Without any distraction, that is, except Dave. 

Dave, who befriended him immediately. Dave, who threw friendship out the window almost immediately when he realized Klaus was also gay. Dave, who spent the next nine months watching Klaus’ back and keeping him alive while Klaus struggled to pick up all the skills that the others had learned in a basic training he had never attended. 

Klaus found he was using less and less drugs the closer he got to Dave. He didn’t give them up completely--obviously--but with Dave around...he found he wanted, for this first time in recent memory, the world to be a little clearer, a little more in focus. 

And so, for months, Klaus carried the suitcase around with him as his adopted unit traversed the jungle. Everynight, he would push it beneath his cot, or slide it into his sleeping bag, or shove it under his pack. And every time, he would tell himself, “Tomorrow. I’ll go back tomorrow.”

The drugs were great but being a gay man in the 70s was no one’s life goal--Klaus knew he would have to go back eventually. But he couldn’t leave Dave. Dave, who, he was startled to realize, he loved.

Klaus wasn’t sure he’d ever loved anyone. He’d had dozens of boyfriends over the years (and several girlfriends, when he was really desperate for a place to stay or a little cash), but love was...not something he’d ever experienced. Sure, he loved his siblings, but more out of obligation than real affection (except maybe Ben...Ben was alright. When he wasn’t  _ sighing _ ).

But Dave...Klaus looked at him and he...he wanted to be better. Wanted to be the kind of person Dave deserved. And so Klaus would put the suitcase away and then he would fall into the arms of Dave. 

And he would be happy. 

 

Losing Dave was not unlike going through withdrawal. Everything hurt, he couldn’t focus, and Klaus knew for a fact he’d give anything to see Dave one last time.

He came back to his own time with Dave’s blood still on his hands. There had been nothing for him in the 70s without Dave, so he’d grabbed Dave’s dog tags, grabbed the suitcase, and left. The rain of fire and bullets hadn’t even registered as Klaus had fiddled with the suitcase. The bus when he returned to 2019 hadn’t really registered, either. All that matter, all he could  _ feel _ was Dave’s loss.

Ben found him almost immediately. He was frantic, demanding to know what had happened, where Klaus had gone, and  _ whose blood was that?! _

Klaus stared at him listlessly, his head spinning. The last of the meth--given to him by the unit medic to keep him going through the battle--was wearing off, and, instinctually, Klaus’ mind turned towards the heroin in his pocket. Maybe that would numb everything, help him forget…

Abruptly, Klaus stood from the bench he’d been sitting on, ignoring Ben’s increasingly worried triade, and beelined for a nearby garbage can, Ben following closely in his wake. With shaking hands, Klaus rifled through all of his pockets, pulling out every pill and baggy and the couple of stim shots tucked into the cuff of his pants. 

“What are you…” Ben started, his brow wrinkled, and Klaus began throwing everything away.

Klaus looked at him when his pockets were officially empty. “Let’s go home.”

He turned and started down the sidewalk, fingering the dog tags. He didn’t want to forget Dave, not ever. And if getting clean was what it took to see him again, well...he could handle a few ghosts if it meant seeing Dave.

_ “I’m gonna need a boost _

_ Cause everything else is a substitute for your love.” _ _ _


	9. Sunshine Riptide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben.  
> Very brief description of violence in this one.

_ “The world tried to burn all the mercy out of me _

_ But you know I wouldn’t let it _

_ It tried to teach me the hard way I can’t forget it” _

Ben’s position in the Umbrella Academy, when he was alive, was...an odd one. He was the only one who killed on a regular basis (the tentacles that burst from his chest knew only how to rip and tear; they were not made to grab and restrain), but he also seemed to be the only one with a problem with the bloodshed he caused on a regular basis.

He would have thought Luther--who’s moral compass pointed unerringly north with absolutely no grey area, which, depending on which philosopher you asked, may have actually made him  _ a _ moral--would have had some sort of objection. But then, it was Dad who ordered Ben to kill in the first place, and Luther had never once argued with one of Dad’s commands.

The others just sort of...ignored it. They avoided him when he covered in blood and assorted viscera, but it seemed more out of a desire to keep their uniforms pristine than any other objection. There wasn’t even any disgust.

Vanya, of course--who cried when they stepped on ants--would have objected, but Mom always made sure Ben was cleaned up before Vanya saw him, and he didn’t brag about his parts in the missions like Luther and Diego did.

When he died, there was part of Ben that was relieved. A very, very small part, because mostly being dead sucked and he very much wished he were still alive; but still: a small part was glad the killing was over. He’d never gotten used to it.

Which may have been why he died in the first place.

Ben’s code name in the field--which was utterly stupid, their lives were so publicised that everyone knew exactly who he was and what he did--was “the Horror.” It did wonderful things for a kid’s self esteem, calling him the Horror. It was almost as traumatizing as having a number for your name.

(They all knew, Ben was sure, that the numbers were really only the number in which Sir Reginald Hargreeves acquired them. But it was sometimes difficult to remember that when Number One was the favorite, Number Two was the second in command, and Number Seven was the least liked by their father. Ben would be lying if he said he’d never put any thought into why he was Number Six.)

As they grew older, Ben’s objections to using his powers started to increase. They’d all been trained in hand-to-hand combat; he could help on missions by fighting and incapacitating, not giving the location of the week a very gruesome makeover. Dad disagreed, of course, and said Ben would never truly master his powers if he didn’t use them (and there was a terrifying thought, that there might be another facet to his powers that Ben had yet to access). But as the years passed, Ben managed to get away with using his powers less and less.

Until the night he didn’t use them and was shot for his troubles. 

Like some sort of galactic karma, he was shot in the stomach. It was the kind of wound that bled acid through his veins, giving him a slow, horrendously painful death. And because it was a solo mission, they didn’t find him until it was too late.

So now Ben got to experience death instead of causing it, which, while not ideal, was at least generally cleaner.

Looking after Klaus--in so much as he was able to do so without being able to touch his brother--at times seemed like a punishment (there was something absolutely gut wrenching about watching your brother bring himself so close to the edge, time and time again, and know there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop him or help him) and at others like a hobby (coming up with new ways to annoy Klaus into eating was always entertaining, as were their sarcasm battles) and, very occasionally, like a chance at redemption (there was also the truly memorable time that Klaus was drunk enough to be blacked out but sober enough to see Ben and Ben had talked him into checking into rehab--that had definitely been a win).

Now, back at the Hargreeves mansion, with their father dead, Ben watched as Klaus toted their father’s ashes downstairs to the kitchen. Klaus had gotten as high as he could while still being able to function in preparation for coming home, so he couldn’t currently see Ben. Ben wondered sometimes if Klaus knew he was still watching, even when Klaus couldn’t see him. And then he felt a little creepy and so pushed the thought away.

Things were going as well as they could--so, terribly. Luther had thought one of them had killed dad, which Diego immediately used to relaunch his childhood “Luther is an asshole” campaign--a campaign that was not without some merit.

Ben had watched as his siblings had angrily gone their separate ways in the house; somehow, even though they were united in their anger against Luther, none of them could stand to be around one another.

Of course, they were all mad at Vanya, too, so that, at least, made sense.

But Diego, Klaus, and Allison had nothing to fight about; at least, not that Ben knew of. But they had all chosen separate rooms as well.

Ben hopped up to sit on a counter, watching Klaus putter around the kitchen, Dad’s ashes still cradled in his arms. Faintly, then louder, music began to trickle down from the upper floors.

Ben concentrated, frowning, trying to place the tune, before a slow smile took over his face. Luther had always been the music lover in the family--well, the pop music lover, anyway. Vanya probably had the claim on music overall. But whenever they had all been told to go to their rooms, or when a mission had gone wrong and so they’d been sent to bed without supper, Luther would play this song loud enough that they could all hear. It hadn’t needed to be too loud, back then--they’d all lived in the same hall. He must really be blasting it, if Ben could hear it all the way down in the kitchen.

Ben’s eyes flicked to Klaus, who was starting to dance. Laughing--when was the last time Ben had laughed?--Ben slid from the counter and joined him.

They were shitty dancers, all of them--except maybe Allison. But Ben could just picture his siblings in their separate rooms, doing their weird little dances, and it was  _ nice _ . It felt like family.

No one could see him, not even Klaus, who had decided to dance with Dad’s ashes ( _ weird _ ), but it reminded Ben of when they were young. Of how they’d been the most together when held in separate rooms.

And so Ben danced.

_ “Cause I’m stuck in the sunshine riptide, _

_ Dancing all alone in the morning light.” _


	10. Bishop’s Knife Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hargreeves.

_ “I’m struggling to exist with you and without you, _

_ I’m just a full tank away from freedom.” _

The first sibling to leave, obviously, was Five. After him, in a dramatic fit of righteous anger, was Diego. Ben left a bit more permanently--though, of course, not quite as permanently as the others (barring Klaus) thought. Klaus and Vanya both left in rapid succession afterwards, and, finally, Alison. Luther left too, eventually, just...not quite in the same was as the others.

They spread themselves throughout the city, almost unconsciously guaranteeing they would never run into one another. Allison stayed only long enough to get discovered (or, at the very least, until she discovered someone high enough up the food chain to get rumor him into getting her a leading role in a movie) before moving out to California. Diego set up shop near the police academy and Vanya found a small apartment near the orchestra. Klaus wandered from neighborhood to neighborhood and actually passed both Diego and Vanya’s homes multiple times, though usually only at the odd hours his hobbies dictated.

The siblings went a full three years without contacting one another. All of them insisted to themselves that the silence between them felt like freedom and nothing at all like loneliness.

Alison was the first to break the silence. She mailed out wedding invitations to her estranged siblings (she mailed two to Diego, with a post it note stuck to the second one that just said “find Klaus”) with some sort of hope of--oh, she didn’t know really. Showing them she was succeeding? That her life was going beyond well? She was a famous actress with a beautiful home and a doting fiance. Everything was exactly how she’d always wanted it, and she needed her siblings to see that. And, maybe, she just needed to see them.

Luther arrived a full day early, and spent an awkward three hours at Allison’s home, meeting Patrick. Allison tried to ignore the kicked puppy looks Luther kept shooting her; she had cared for him deeply, once, yes, but he did not fit into her picture of perfect life. Not since he had refused to leave their father.

And not since she had finally listened to just how strange the phrase “their father” sounded when applied to the person she was supposed to be in love with.

Vanya had arrived the day of the wedding, stopping in just long enough to greet Allison and let her know she was there. Alison saw Diego when she was actually walking down the aisle, sitting next to Vanya in the back row. As family, they technically could have sat in the front, but Alison found herself a little relieved they hadn’t.

Luther, of course, did sit in the front row.

Klaus was the last to arrive, in typical Klaus fashion. Whereas Luther and Diego had both chosen to wear dark colored suits--that did not completely hide the outline of several knives strapped to Diego’s forearms--and Vanya had worn a simple burgundy dress, Klaus pulled out all the stops with a pair of leather, open sided pants (leggings? Where they technically considered leggings, once they got that tight?) and a silk, paisley long-sleeved top. He made a typical Klaus entrance to the reception venue, throwing open the double doors, pausing a moment, before crying out “My dearest sister!” and descending on Allison to place a kiss on either cheek. Allison wanted to be mad--he had, afterall, caused a scene at her picture-perfect wedding--but it was just so  _ Klaus _ that all she could do was laugh. 

The five of them secluded themselves to a corner after that to catch up, and it was almost like old times. Luther and Diego egging each other on, Klaus murmuring occasionally to someone they couldn’t see, Vanya quietly smiling into her wine glass. Alison smiled. They needed to do this more often. They were siblings, afterall, and no matter what Reginald Hargreeves had put them through, that did not change their bond. 

Alison laughed at the insults Diego and Luther were trading, vowing to herself to reach out to her siblings more often after this.

 

_ “The glow of the cities below lead us back _

_ To the places that we never should have left.” _

 

Another two years of silence pass between the Hargreeves siblings. Alison kept her promise of increased contact for all of three phone calls--two to Luther and one to Vanya--before silence reigned once more.

Alison assured herself she was too busy and Luther fell back on his bitterness at being the only one left. Diego was too busy playing hero--and too tired of the phrase “playing hero”--to bother with contacting his siblings, and Klaus was...well. Doing Klaus. Vanya found herself picking up the phone several times, intending to call one of the others, just to check in, but then she would remember none of them had bothered to call her, and she would slowly return the phone to the cradle. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

It was a surprise, then, when Diego turned up on Vanya’s doorstep. A surprise, that is, until he shoved something hard against her chest, seething.

“Wha--” Vanya started, looking down. She froze when she caught sight of her own face. Her book. It was her book. Diego was on her doorstep, shoving her book against her chest, and he looked  _ furious _ .

“What the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?” Diego snarled. He shoved her back, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her stumble. He stalked into her apartment and slammed the door behind him.

Vanya watched him with round eyes; she wasn’t afraid of him--he was still her brother--but she’d never had this sort of anger directed at her before. She’d never really had any strong emotion directed at her before. “I--”

“Don’t even,” Diego snapped, cutting her off. “I don’t want to fucking hear your excuses, your  _ I just felt so invisible _ bullshit. You’re not special, Vanya. You have never been special and you never will be. I’m sorry that you’re just like every other goddamn asshole on this fucking planet, but that doesn’t mean you just get to fuck over your f-f-family!”

Vanya flinched and felt tears welling in her eyes. “I-I wasn’t trying to, to fuck anyone over, I swear!” 

Diego’s hand twitched and Vanya briefly thought he was reaching for one of his knives. But he was only flexing his fingers in annoyance, a tick Vanya had noticed in him years ago. A tick she’d written about. Along with his powers, his stutters, his temper tantrums, his whole life. For the first time, it occured to Vanya that by bearing her story, by putting her life on display, she was displaying her siblings, too. 

She hadn’t meant to--not consciously, at least. She’d been trying to...to...fuck, she didn’t know what she’d been trying to do. Display just how inadequate she was? Reveal her siblings’ flaws in an effort to make herself look better?  _ ‘Look at me, I don’t have powers but at least I don’t have these guys’ neuroses!’ _

“Shit. Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Diego.” Vanya ran her hands agitatedly through her hair, tears falling freely down her face now, her heart pounding in her ears. “I’ll...I’ll...I’ll talk to my publisher. Have them halt production, pull the books.”

Diego laughed hollowly. “You don’t even realize, do you? You’re a fucking best seller, Vanya. Congratu-fucking-lations. The world realized there was a book revealing the secrets of the Umbrella Academy and they bought that shit up.” Diego stepped closer, and poked her in the chest. “Do you hear me? They bought your damn book because of us. No one cares about you.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door. Vayna didn’t move from her spot, sobbing freely now.

Vanya received a similar visit from Luther a few days later, though Luther expressed disappointment and pity more than rage. Alison called the same day and informed Vanya, in no uncertain terms, that her book meant absolutely nothing to Alison, nothing at all. Her voice was like the arctic. Even Klaus managed to call, from his rehab facility (which Vanya was paying for; apparently, her number had been save in his cell the last time he’d had to be revived in the back of an ambulance. When they called her--the only next of kin they could find--Vanya had timidly suggested rehab, then tiredly agreed to accept the bill) to inform Vanya that her book had been very amusing though not particularly memorable.

All of them made a point of telling her that any popularity of her book was due entirely to the inclusion of the Umbrella Academy and had absolutely nothing to do with Vanya herself.

Vanya tried talking to her published, begging them to pull the books. They reminded her that she had signed over the copyright when she signed her contract and they were under no obligation to honor her wishes in this matter. If she wanted to sell the movie rights, though, they told her, that was entirely up to her.

Vanya hid away for a few months after that. She stopped going to orchestra--she didn’t even receive a call asking where she was--and cancelled all her lessons. Her money ran out fairly quickly, though--royalties wouldn’t kick in until the original run of the book had completely sold, and even then they’d likely be pretty limited unless the popularity of her book continued.

Hesitantly, and mostly because she needed to pay rent, Vanya agreed to do a reading at a local bookstore. And then at the library. And then at a high school. For about a month, she was able to get solid bookings to do readings and signings. 

She felt guilty, at first, going to them when she knew how much her book had hurt her siblings. But as their angry words played over and over again in her head, Vanya found her own heart hardening. Why shouldn’t she use the trauma of their childhood to create something positive in her life? Alison had. Diego...kind of had? Klaus definitely had not but she had tried to help him. 

But by the time the guilt had abated, so had the popularity of her book. Fewer and fewer people came to the readings and fewer still stayed for the signings. One day, the calls requesting her for a reading stopped altogether and Vanya realized her siblings were right. She wasn’t special. They had bought the book to read about the members of the Umbrella Academy, not the boring normal girl. 

The guilt started to creep back in and Vanya went to work. She didn’t pick up the phone to call her siblings anymore.

 

_ “These are the last blues we’re ever gonna get _

_ Let’s see how deep we get.” _

Klaus was too high to see Ben at the moment (which meant he had absolutely  _ no _ qualms about dancing with the ashes of their dead father and Ben was going to be having nightmares about that  _ forever _ \--or, you know, he  _ would _ if he could still sleep) but Ben was freaking out. Five--little, thirteen-year-old  _ Five _ \--had just fallen out of a hole in the sky. Which was weird, even by their standards.

And their standards were  _ weird _ . 

It was the first time they’d all been together since Alison’s wedding and the first time any of them had spoken since BookGate (as Klaus called it). Things were going just as well as Ben had thought they would (re: terribly) and he had every confidence things would continue to improve (re: deteriorate rapidly) between his still-living siblings. He’d even wondered idly, as Luther insinuated that one of them (though not Ben,  _ obviously _ ) had murdered Dad, what Five was doing right then. He kid had to be long dead, Ben figured, but he thought Five’s ghost would make this whole thing a lot more interesting--he’d have great commentary, at the very least.

And lo and behold, not an hour later, there was Five. Falling from the sky, very much alive, and very much pissed off. 

It was the weirdest night of Ben’s afterlife and that was saying something--he’d been following Klaus around for ten years. 

He wanted to make Klaus ask Five questions (where had he been, was was he still a child, what did he  _ mean _ he was in his fifties) but his brother was still too far gone to see him. Ben swiped at Klaus’ head like an angry cat, just for something to do, and then found himself mildly relieved that no one was able to see him throwing a tantrum.

Five left and Klaus hitched a ride with Diego before Ben could manage to break through the fog of opiates in Klaus system (he always kept track, even if Klaus didn’t) to ask his questions. Instead, he found himself having another conversation about food with Klaus; though, admittedly, it was always a nice change of pace when Klaus initiated these conversations instead of Ben.

The next time they saw Five, Klaus was sober enough to see Ben and, unfortunately, sober enough to ignore him, too. Ben watched sullenly as Klaus smashed a snowglobe against his face, pissed off at being ignored through this whole charade. Klaus was refusing to ask Five what, exactly, they were doing, why they needed information on an eye, and every other question Ben through Klaus’ way. He was too focused on getting paid.

“You couldn’t even ask him who Dolores was?” Ben snapped as Five saluted from the backseat of a retreating taxi.

“Never piss off the man with money,” Klaus informed him sagely.

“You didn’t even get paid!”

Klaus frowned. “True. Pubescent dick.”

Ben groaned.

 

Answers slowly came forth from Five and Ben’s world slowly got crazier. Klaus was kidnapped then disappeared then reappeared with PTSD and a desire to get clean. Luther was part monkey and lost his virginity to a girl who thought he was a furry. Alison wasn’t rumoring people anymore and it looked like she and Luther were picking back up where they left off when they were kids. Vanya had a boyfriend, and somehow, that was stranger than Five’s apocalyptic girlfriend being half a mannequin. 

And now the world was ending. 

They were all together, the first time they’d been truly together in years. They even knew Ben was there, now, thanks to Klaus’ new-found manifestation powers. They were together and the world was ending.

And Vanya had ended it.

Because Vanya had powers now, apparently, and some very deep-seated emotional trauma. 

Ben held onto Klaus’ shoulder, and he could swear that he could actually feel his brother’s bony shoulder blade twitching under his finger as they watched Five rip open a hole in the universe. Ben spared a glance for his siblings, watching as they reverted to their thirteen-year-old bodies in between blinks. Their faces looked more familiar to him like this, somehow. He glanced at Klaus and Klaus turned his head to look back at him, as if he felt his gaze. Ben squeezed Klaus’ shoulder and Klaus turned back to the rift.

They would get it right this time, Ben decided. He didn’t know how long they were going to be children, or just how messed up Vanya was. But they were going to get it right this time. Together. 

_ “And I’m yours, _

_ ‘Til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me something good.


End file.
